


Hindsight and Planning (1981).

by Calleo, interdimensionalhitchhiker84



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Arts, Gen, Magical Theory (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleo/pseuds/Calleo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/interdimensionalhitchhiker84/pseuds/interdimensionalhitchhiker84
Summary: This was a compiled thread that myself and interdimensionalhitchhiker84 (who will be added as a co-creator properly when the option on the profile gets turned on :) ) wrote together after we thought it'd be interesting to take the Fantastic Beasts era threads, based  mostly around magical theory & alchemy discussion and a completely platonic friendship to a thread decades later just after Voldemort initially died.Calleo's career in the Department of Mysteries centers almost solely around the Dark Arts, which made him an ideal person to go to for a frank hindsight look at what had occurred.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. The Owls, and One Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Vague, but not terribly detailed descriptions of death and curses.

_Calleo,_

_I’m afraid I have a troubling problem of a most sensitive nature. While the rest of our world is taking the time for much-needed celebration, I find I may have made a grave error. For too long, I have withheld trust from those I used to confide in, believing myself capable of holding secrets I felt no other should have to carry the burden of. Worried, as I’m sure you can understand, that regardless of intentions, the world was in too dangerous a place to take the risk of people being compromised–of delicate information leaking into places and minds it ought not be._

_But now, my old friend, I have many great doubts about what others find such cause for celebration in. Something, though I cannot be sure what, is simply not adding up in my mental calculations. Somewhere, I must have dropped a decimal or shifted a digit, because I cannot understand how such a great and terrible man his disappeared so thoroughly. The Potters, though undoubtedly skilled, did not have the support or preparation to end this war single-handedly, and with no body and not even a wand… I have to wonder if Lord Voldemort was even there at all that night, or if Mr. Black did the deed himself. But where he might have gone, if he were not vanquished…_

_And of course, little Harry. I believe I have made him as safe as I am capable, but I do not have the expertise you do and I do not know if my paranoia has simply put a child in the way of avoidable danger of another form._

_I do not know if you have any information that can help me, as I certainly have not been freely sharing with you these last years, but I hope, if you are willing, you can take the time to tell me if I have simply gone mad under all of the self-imposed pressure. And, though I never have found the time to read the main body of your work, I am now holding out hope that there may be something within it that could aid me now–that could give me a clue as to what could have truly caused this respite._

_Please forgive me for my long silence until now._

_-Albus_

He sent the letter away as a small flock of sparrows–a nod to their very first correspondences, and sat back to wait.

Calleo had been _severely_ tempted to open with, “That _does_ sound like you, yes,” but, as he continued to read the letter the temptation to put too much levity into a reply quickly faded.

He had, of course, known full well about the celebrations, the fall of that petty thug who’d been going around calling himself a Dark Lord for the last decade or so, but he had also assumed they’d found a body as confirmation that the man was dead.

No body was– _alarming_ , to say the least. More than enough to raise a whole hell of a lot of red flags in anyone who could stop celebrating for two seconds to realise that there was an entire body and wand missing and enough to cause someone who had been working in the Ministry’s Archives, largely dealing with the Dark Arts and everything to do with them since 1912 to stop cold and re-read what he thought he’d read several times to make sure he’d read it correctly.

The reply was sent as the seven, cheerfully hopping magpies that, by now, Albus could likely put back together with very little focus required. Still, they were complicated and secure enough that anyone intercepting would have a good deal of difficulty with it.

_Albus,_

_Any grave error made here is on the part of the Ministry, to nobody’s surprise I’m certain, and on the part of those so mindlessly celebrating the death of someone when no body or wand was retrieved from the scene of where he was last known to be present._

_Very few things these days cause me to come to a screeching halt in a manner of speaking._

_That did._

_There are various forms of magic, typically either straight Blood Magic or Blood Magic mixed with other high level curse work, that could result in–it’s difficult to describe without going on for several pages which I’ll likely do anyway, but a ‘partial death’ is the closest I can think of to condense it down._

_None of it is legal, none of it is widespread, and all of it has horrific physical and psychological effects on the person using it; apart from–it’s more that–the thing here is–(he must be dictating)–when someone dies normally, regardless of the method, the end result is the spirit being severed from the physical body._

_If the spirit isn’t intact when the original body dies, however…there is, of course, the possibility that he was not present and it was Black’s doing but considering how utterly brutal Crouch’s too-late crackdown came and how many people were swept up in his nets that should not have been, I have my doubts, especially if Black hadn’t been branded like the rest of the “Dark Lord’s” (the quill had, evidently, detected heavy, dripping sarcasm, adding the appropriate punctuation to convey it) chattel; they did check for that before kicking him off the island and into Azkaban, yes?_

_As for the child, one of the pictures in the Prophet–_ (his dictaquill must have attempted to convey a long delay in dictation)

_I don’t need to ask if it’s assumed that Voldemort, forgive me, I won’t be using his self-granted titles, it gives him a level of legitimacy that he genuinely does not deserve, used a killing curse._

_Partially because I suspect it’s one of only three curses he ever learned how to use effectively and partially because I both know its cast pattern and a cast pattern burn well enough._

_The troubling part is that a cast pattern burn happens when a spell backfires, as you’re well aware, but it should burn the one who cast it not the intended target. If it was a backfire, something deflected it from him and onto the child._

_And that loops back to what I mentioned earlier in this letter._

_There is no blocking death in that form apart from using a physical barrier, but it can be cheated._

_Have you, by any chance, seen his face? Relatively recently, of course, and if the answer to that is yes it would be useful to have that description, though I already have suspicions. If every siren that just went off in my head is accurate, he was there, and isn’t dead; as to where he’s gone, I’d have no idea specifically._

_That said, if I am correct–and make no mistake, as much as I do enjoy being correct, there are times when I would prefer it were not the case–the part of him that was in Godric’s Hollow was dispatched beyond the veil._

_The REST of him could be damn near anywhere attached to whatever took his fancy when he did it._

(There is an entire blank page of parchment. The quill is taking silence literally, it seems.)

_The main body of my work, at least the one that’s most known by those who know where to find it, is on the Cruciatus Curse and its various modifications, all of which make it exponentially worse with longer lasting damage and more than occasional death after a minute or so; there are other, older, and frankly more Unforgivable bits of magic I’ve written about as well. I use one of them for landscaping._

_HE clearly never read any of them, nor did any of his followers._

_That’s not a complaint, as an aside._

_I have written–a bit about what I suspect is going on here, but nothing extensive as the various books that detail it detail it well enough._

_Astarte’s wands, my blackthorn piece is from him if you recall, used a modification of one of the rituals; he called it ‘soul binding’ to the wand but it’s Blood Magic at its base._

_I’d write the word down, but it gets automatically flagged and redacted, even more creative spellings of it–Level Seven works, it’s only this department’s senior and head allowed down there; there used to be a book in the Restricted Section, of all places to put a book like that, Magick Moste Evile, that mentioned them but did not go into detail. It specifically stated that it would not go into detail._

_There are several texts that are not all that difficult to obtain from various sources that do, however._

_Now and again, a book comes across my desk that’s less clever spell work that makes an inanimate object seem alive and able to converse and more has roughly fifty percent of a person bound to it, can actually converse, is technically alive, and will try to push you out of your own mind so it can have a body again. I knew a few of them when they were properly alive, not surprisingly._

_At this point, I just carefully disconnect them from the book and for awhile was just throwing them into an old teapot until it got too noisy and the teapot ran out of theoretical room; they’re all in the back of the Brain Room as I wasn’t entirely sure if it was strictly legal to technically kill them or not and I certainly wasn’t going to ask in this political climate._

_They already think we’re all a touch mad down here and I haven’t got the time or energy to make, “May I kill this teapot full of partial souls or should I get a larger teapot?” sound even remotely sane._

_And I’ve just realised I ought to have said that AFTER telling you that you haven’t gone mad because now I sound at least a bit mad and telling you that you’re not might actually come off as the blind leading the blind._

_At any rate, you’re not mad (and neither am I, for the record); something isn’t right and I very much doubt that he’s fully dead._

_That all said, there is nothing to forgive; I am more than aware of how you often work and keenly aware that very few would want to give people like me any information that might end up assisting the sorts I often get lumped in with._

_Please don’t presume there is any bitterness in that last statement. I know how what I work with is viewed, how I’m viewed by proxy, and I know that the vast majority of the people who use the same sort of magic as opposed to studying it are viciously cutthroat and can’t be trusted as far as you could throw them without using magic._

_I am nothing if not self-aware._

_We should, perhaps, discuss it further in person._

_The last thing either one of us needs is Crouch’s myopic tunnel vision focusing in this direction; I have no doubt he would go to any lengths he thought he could get away with to silence such talk._

_I also haven’t got the time or energy to deal with the mess that would be and, I suspect, neither do you._

_\- Calleo_

_Calleo,_

_I do wish you had simply said I was mad and left it be. I might have believed you, and it would have offered me a great deal of comfort. What you are suggesting…_

_I do not know the details of Black’s case. I admit, I was deeply fond of the boy, and I had little interest in paying close attention to the aftermath of his betrayal. I don’t believe he was marked–he would not have been a particularly effective spy if he had been–but he was the only one in the position to do the damage that was done._

_As for Voldemort’s face, I have not had the displeasure if viewing it recently. I did see him up close many years ago, and already, his association with dark magics had warped his features. Though the red eyes may have been an intentional, if unattractive, aesthetic choice, I have heard from others that he had taken on particularly snake-like features in recent months–pale and sickly and as though evil had been personified. I’m afraid I cannot offer a more precise description than that._

_What you are speaking of is beyond anything I have intentionally researched. Splitting the soul… This is far graver than I ever could have hoped. It paints a grim future for us all._

_I believe you’re right, yet again. It is time to leave my office before the self-pity drowns me where I sit. Perhaps I should come to join you for further discussion, though of course not at the Ministry._

_Wherever you choose, I will come._

_-Albus_

He didn’t bother with any cheerful transfiguration or charms work this time. Solemnly, he asked Fawkes to deliver the message, leaving it neatly in Calleo’s lap. Then, when his companion returned, he only found the energy to stroke the bird twice before hiding his face in his hands in shame and exhaustion. There was so much more he could have done for Tom before any of this happened, if only he’d had the foresight.

_Fawkes_ was certainly an unexpected delivery bird! Still, he’d always been friendly and he was a combination of colours that Calleo found relaxing.

It also usually meant things weren’t–well. When the letters came as sparrows, at the very least it was an indication that Albus was generally himself even if there was a concern over something.

When an actual bird showed up, especially Fawkes, it was almost never a good thing

_Albus,_

_False comfort now would make it worse later, assuming I’m correct. I’d imagine the Ministry will be caught with its trousers down for the third time in a row because why would they bother to change now?_

_I don’t know much about Black myself, apart from his name and the fact that it looks like Crouch decided a trial wasn’t necessary which sets a terrible precedent._

_If he was the only one who had the ability to find them, it’s still very possible he let Voldemort in; if Black had cast that killing curse, I doubt it would have ‘backfired’ in the way it appears to have backfired. I still don’t know why the pattern burn landed on the intended victim and not Voldemort and I definitely do not like the fact that they didn’t find a body yet have declared him dead._

_That doesn’t sit right._

_The thing about looks and dark magics is that they only warp one’s looks for two reasons. I’d like to think they haven’t warped mine too terribly much beyond always looking like I don’t get nearly enough sleep, which I don’t._

_The most common reason is it simply being a side effect of an unchecked addiction; you can see examples of that scattered all over Knockturn, but they typically don’t have their eyes go red or look necessarily inhuman._

_Personally, I think they just look a bit ill and in need of a good scrub._

_Most changes that happen due to an uncontrolled addiction manifest in behaviour and psychological health. You see a lot of sudden aggression with little to no warning, paranoia, and the sort of anger that’s based in fear, which is usually where the aggression comes from._

_Not only does the magic feed off of strong emotions of that nature, it’s easy to manifest them as the Ministry’s idea of treatment for that sort of addiction is either execution or Azkaban and many would prefer the former to the latter, so they’ll go out of their way to ensure anyone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement feels they need to use lethal force._

_The second and most uncommon reason can be found in several of the texts I hinted. Performing the ritual once will cause some visual side effects but nothing that looks much beyond a standard addiction or possible illness, but if you’re doing multiple splits and not splitting the split to make more and are splitting yourself again, you go from having 50% of your soul intact to 25% to roughly 12%, and so on._

_The few I’ve known at 50% are unpleasant enough. In fairness, they were unpleasant at 100% as well, which is telling._

_Someone who keeps slicing it in half repeatedly would be unpredictably dangerous after two or three rounds and very likely completely mad at anything beyond that. Whether they remain that way depends on how large the piece used in the resurrection rituals (as opposed to simply possessing someone else’s body and kicking them to the back seat of their own mind) is; could be anything from something utterly inhuman looking to someone who looks fairly ordinary._

_I’ll pull the texts; nobody looks twice at anything I do anymore anyway and the assumption is always that I have strange reading habits or am working on a project. I can grab one of three I know if you’d like to examine one of the things in person; they do often wiggle their way past standard Occlumency, but I doubt you’d have any trouble adjusting defenses slightly to keep them out._

_It’s incredibly obscure, viciously awful magic that most people wouldn’t even be aware of, let alone know exactly where to look to find how to do it–and those who do find it can often not manage to get through even reading the full ritual to the end._

_My house is probably the safest place as I know damn well nobody can eavesdrop here. The security wards won’t bother you; you’ve had a key for decades anyway._

_\- Calleo_

Included with the letter is a small, unremarkable, unevenly cut piece of raw black tourmaline that has been turned into a portkey.


	2. Horcruxes and the Things That Mimic Them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In person meetings are always better than discussion via transfigured paper birds,

Albus found himself feeling more than a little ill, contemplating what Tom may have done to himself. He’d always been a bit worrying, but despite his tendencies toward keeping people at a distance and delving deeply into dark magics, he was a well-reasoned young man. Albus hadn’t agreed with any of the ideas Tom supported since he was in his youth himself, but he at least argued them well at first. He seemed almost more of a political activist than a terrorist.

He gathered what information he had handy about Voldemort and the recent war efforts, then went ahead and took the portkey. He hadn’t let himself into Calleo’s home before, but it was far from the first time he had been there, and he was sure he could make himself at home to wait, should he arrive earlier than he was expected.

The portkey had been set to go directly to Calleo’s living room, bypassing the short hallway from the front door and that one book that always seemed to have a habit of lunging at anyone who walked past.

Very little in that room, or in the house in general, had changed over the years and if the majority of the old wallpaper hadn’t been almost completely obscured by shelves containing various books, artefacts, and miscellaneous nonsense that had, at some point, caught Calleo’s eye it would have appeared much more dated than it did. They were all heavily warded in a way that suggested the spell work was there for the protection of anyone in the room and less in place for protecting what was on the shelves.

Wood floors, at least, were relatively timeless.

If Calleo’s sofa and the one chair that sat off to the left of it had changed at all over the decades, it certainly wasn’t evident due to the fact that both were mostly covered with various loudly coloured and patterned quilts.

Calleo had been _somewhere_ in the house when Albus arrived, mostly evident on account of him walking into the room a few seconds after his arrival. While he didn’t technically audibly say something along the lines of, “You look absolutely _terrible_ ,” the brief pause in his movement and the accompanying look Albus got for a split second before Calleo’s usual warm smile appeared likely said it clearly enough.

“I’d like to apologise to you in advance,” once he was close enough, Calleo laid a hand on Albus’ shoulder and steered him toward the sofa, “for a lot of things but chiefly for the fact that I’m about to go on about topics you likely never had any desire to learn the details of and will speak about them as though we were discussing what I finally wanted to replace the mostly hidden wallpaper with.”

On the coffee table in front of the sofa there were four books stacked (one being the common and easy to find Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock), one book off by itself and under a whole hell of a lot of heavy warding (curiously, despite it not moving at all, it still somehow appeared to be struggling to break free rather violently),something that looked a lot like a vaguely unsettling stone paper weight, and a seemingly random book with a blank cover that gave them both a cheerful, “Good evening, gentlemen!”

“So, apart from the texts that detail those rituals–disarmed, by the way, the books, that is, figured you wouldn’t be all that keen on doing that yourself all things considered,” he offered a small, almost apologetic smile. “It’s up my street anyway, and I’m familiar enough with these four that I could probably do it in my sleep.”

“At any rate, apart from those, I’ve brought one currently forcibly silenced horcrux of someone I knew while he was alive and one of the slightly more mad–” Calleo paused and looked at the object next to the book on the coffee table that appeared to be little more than a stone paperweight, “–apologies, you’re much better off than you used to be but still the most prone to unpredictable mood swings than the others–” his attention turned back to Albus, “–victims of certain irreversible forms of Transfiguration as they can often seem extraordinarily similar if one doesn’t know what they’re looking at.”

“Both of them can hear me perfectly fine and are able to observe their surroundings; the horcrux can speak rather loudly and audibly when he wants to, which he often does, mostly to swear at me or anyone else willing to put up with it in two different languages. The other one can as well, but unless you purposely open up a connection using either Legilimency or Mensrapere–this one prefers the latter but will tolerate the former–you can’t hear them and all most people notice is an unsettling feeling that they’re being watched.”

“A lot of ‘haunted’ Muggle items are one of those. I’ve got six on my desk at work, and have never been successful in convincing the Wizengamot to let me kill them citing murder is murder and somehow evidently worse than leaving someone trapped in that state of relative immortality for what would amount to eternity without outside intervention.”

“ _Technically_ ,” Calleo sighed, “a horcrux is similar in that regard with the significant difference being that the person who makes a horcrux very much did it on purpose and that it’s based in Blood Magic and not Transfiguration. When it’s the offshoot of Transfiguration, it’s not possible to do it to yourself, someone else has to have done it and if they’re dead, their victim is stuck.”

“This one,” he leaned forward to pick the horcrux up off of the table, “is what’s left of Victor Achleitner; I doubt anyone would mind if I destroyed it considering the other half of him was dispatched in 1944 but, I kind of want the book and he kind of still has four of mine squirreled away somewhere and I just haven’t had the time to drag the information out of him. Fully intend to reunite him with his other half once I’ve got them back, however.”

“I’d imagine,” Calleo began, turning the book over in his hands a few times and speaking as casually as he might if it were a little more than a copy of the Prophet, “that you can probably feel the difference between this and,” a nod toward the paperweight, “that without me having to let _this_ idiot,” the book got a less than gentle knock on the cover and was now seething more than enough that it was obvious even under several layers of containment and silencing charms, “start talking and subjecting either of us to his unpleasant personality. I might have also told him you’d be visiting to make sure he was in a properly terrible mood so the difference between them all was more striking.”

“And that one,” Calleo set the horcrux on the arm of the sofa, leaning forward to pick up the book with the blank cover, “is an old book with some clever charms work on it that makes it seem as though it were alive; the longer those sets of charms get to run and the more conversation they’re exposed to, the more alive they seem. This one is from 1832, completely innocuous as it’s essentially a talking cookbook that can answer questions about itself, its author, and the recipes inside of it, and can give the impression that it’s sentient or at least alive–until you talk to it long enough or ask it something that requires complex thought and it runs out of responses that make sense.”

“Fairly easy to confuse the three if it’s not something you’ve studied extensively and it becomes dangerous if you mistake a horcrux for clever charms; the larger–in the sense of how much of someone’s soul is attached to it–they are the more capable they are of kicking you out of your own mind. Most of them will purposely come off as incredibly charming and play the victim toward someone who doesn’t recgonise what they are, and once they’ve managed to build enough of a trust with whoever they’re speaking with they’ll go from 'speaking’ to you inside your own mind to taking it from you. That’s the easiest, least bloody, least complicated, and most direct path to what amounts to resurrection.”

“He can’t do that,” Calleo nodded toward the paper weight, “but he can talk to you that way; in the case of those, it’s no different than speaking to anyone else via Legilimency.”

“You know, Albus,” He set the other book on top of the horcrux, likely just to annoy it further and turned to smile at Albus, “all of this is exactly the sort of thing I was so elated you never wrote me about, never asked about, and never wanted to discuss because it’s all anyone else ever wants to talk to me about.”

“I don’t even need to think about it anymore, it’s all just sort of automatic explanations. Probably what I deserve for carving out such a horrid little niche for myself though. Regardless,” somehow Calleo didn’t seem at all put off by any of it, “it is my horrid little niche and what I don’t already know I can typically find out or form a solid enough working theory from what I do already know and conversation on the topic.”

“So, if you’ve got questions, I’ve more than _likely_ got answers. Can’t guarantee you’ll like the answers, but there’s a decent chance that I _have_ them.”

Albus froze for a second, when Calleo came toward him then didn’t stop, then made contact. As though he were a deer in wandlight. But then the second passed and his brain resumed mostly-normal functioning. As odd as it was to be touched like that, it was hardly the first time Calleo had done so. Still, rather than conjuring his own chair, which, after his hair had turned entirely silver, Albus had found he could do without drawing complaint and he had since taken to doing in almost every situation, he simply sunk into the blanket-covered couch he was directed toward with a sigh. It had, truly, been a horrible week, and if Calleo had spotted the signs of it so quickly, there was little point in attempting to disguise his exhaustion further. Especially in the face of the sort of discussion that was likely to come. 

Despite all of his deep research into a great number of topics, Albus took great pride in the fact that his knowledge of the dark arts was still fairly superficial. He had avoided speaking with anyone on the topic in any great depth for the majority of his life, after that summer when he had fallen head-first into a great many dangers he had since kept himself firmly away from. And now, here he was, on the sofa of an old friend, preparing to delve into the deepest, most alarming and revolting, of dark arts.

He didn’t like it, but despite his horror, Albus stayed where he was and he listened. Because this was important, and self-imposed or not, he had a duty. He even listened to Calleo’s summary of the ministry’s confusing and worrying stance on these objects, which he would have to look into and try to do something about, and to his intentions to destroy the horcrux in his possession at some future point, which he would not attempt to prevent. There were many people who Albus would have tried to persuade to show mercy, feeling that he had some responsibility to guide them in positive moral directions. Calleo was not one of those people. Which was good because Albus was not in a good place for providing guidance.

He could certainly feel the difference between the objects, but he examined the magic surrounding each object with a critical eye, just to be sure he remembered.

“I know. I wish I _didn’t_ have questions. I taught him. Tom was under my care for seven long _years_ and I cannot help but feel as though I have failed both him and all of Britain for allowing this to happen.” He closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath.

“But alas, I do. You mentioned the possibility of multiple horcruxes. I can hardly imagine, and yet I can imagine far too well. Tom always was so sure of himself–so fascinated with symbolism and the power of numbers. Do you think he would have gone so far as to make three? One would be hard enough to track, and as the numbers rise… I don’t suppose there’s an easy summoning ritual to gather the pieces before they can do more harm?”


	3. Numbers and "that odd kid who told you he could talk to snakes".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numerology & Arithmancy matter.
> 
> To some people, at any rate.

Calleo knew the kind of reaction that entire explanation would get. On some level, he always did when talking about any aspect of what he studied to most people on account of most people not having whatever disconnect Calleo’s mind had that let him detach himself from what it was and view it under a neutral light while explaining it.

He had been of the opinion as long as he could recall that the most prevalent issue with the Dark Arts was the fact that so few people knew how most of it worked, they just saw the after effects of the magic itself or what it did to those who used it without knowing how it worked and, by proxy, how to handle it with relative safety.

The trouble with changing that view in anyone was that it had a tendency to be steeped in centuries of what amounted to fear of the unknown and, stripped back to what it was, the majority of it were only charms apart from the places it branched into Blood Magic, Potions, or Transfiguration.

When approached the same way as any other powerful magic, there was little to fear so long as one remained respectful of what it was capable of doing in the wrong (or right, depending on your stance) hands. In the wrong hands, it was a twisted, ugly, unpredictable, malevolent thing that could only hope to be viciously addictive and destructive and that turned those who used it into a physical manifestation of what it was. That was what most people’s exposure to the Dark Arts ever was and what the most prominent uses of it that made a mark on history were.

Calleo would argue both that those people were unchecked addicts who were more in need of being taught how to manage their addiction and use it safely as addiction was never truly gone and less in need of being thrown into Azkaban or pushed to the edges of Wizarding society; the latter especially was exactly how people like Voldemort were able to gain the followings that they gained. Those who feel abandoned or hated by society will often cling to anything or anyone that offers them a sense of acceptance and belonging, after all and, when that comes bundled with an additional offer of striking back at those who’d cast them out it had a strong tendency to be an irresistible draw.

Still, Albus wasn’t there to get into a debate about that. Not this time, at any rate.

This was also the second time he’d used the name Tom instead of Voldemort and it caused Calleo to stop and think for a couple of minutes, “That odd kid who told you he could talk to _snakes?_ He worked at Borgin & Burkes for a while, I think; only noticed because he was one of the few things in Knockturn that wasn’t largely incoherent. Had a strange cadence to his speech. A lot of pauses in there wouldn’t normally be pauses but, held up against the sorts of people one usually finds in Knockturn, he was pleasantly normal or could at least act it.”

“You can’t control what _other people_ decide to do with their lives, Albus.” For someone who had just been casually talking about the rituals behind splitting one’s soul into pieces, Calleo’s tone easily shifted from the same one he used at work while explaining a particular piece of magic to something significantly more gentle.

“When you get someone who ends up having an interest in the Dark Arts and ends up left to their own devices in terms of how they go about learning them and from whom, they often do go off the rails despite anyone’s best efforts.”

The smile he offered was a strange mix of a little bit sheepish and little amused, “I did for a bit, and I had relatively formal education in it. That was a good–probably twenty years before you knew me. Don’t remember most of it, to be honest, just that it was…unpleasant and _terrifying_. It’s difficult to break free of it with a support system and next to impossible if you’ve surrounded yourself with people and things that feed it and encourage it.”

“Not an excuse, of course, it never is but, at the same time, it also–is what it is. Most people just end up quietly self-destructing but now and again you get one that manages to lash out _spectacularly_.”

At least this most recent one hadn’t really had a chance to spread much beyond Britain. Calleo had the sense not to say that out loud, if nothing else.

“And you taught him _Transfiguration_ , Albus; you weren’t even his head of house! Even if you had been, it still falls back to the fact that it’s just not a realistic possibility to be able to control what someone else does. You can give someone all the information or support in the world but if they’re not willing to listen to it or accept it, there isn’t anything you can do.”

_Well, you could use the Imperius Curse but that was generally frowned upon._

“A bit like how I could spend the rest of the ni–frankly, the rest of my _life_ –explaining to you how none of this is your fault and your response would be to listen politely, nod, and tell me ‘Interesting theory, but also, it’s definitely my fault’ with a completely straight face as if you hadn’t heard a single word I’d said,” Calleo said that with all the affection one would expect to find present when speaking to someone he’d known for nearly half a century.

“It is a possibility, yes.” Back to the wildly unpleasant topic of horcruxes, “Slim one, but definitely one. Don’t think I’ve heard of anyone doing it multiple times before, once is usually painful enough on multiple levels that they don’t want to or are too afraid to do so.”

It wouldn’t do to admit that it would be highly interesting to meet or, even better, speak at length with someone who had done multiple splits, despite how dangerous it would also be to meet such a person.

“If it’s numbers he’s fascinated with, I’d disagree with three if only because I don’t–like that number for some reason; same with six, nine, or anything where threes are doubled or, worse, tripled. Threes in odd numbers of the worst sort of threes.” Calleo blinked a bit owlishly. That much he hadn’t intended to say out loud as there was never a way to say it that didn’t come off as irrational.

“Numerology falls under the blanket of Divination,” he never had been able to fully remove the audible eye roll from his voice whenever that topic came up, “for the most part and I’m not sure either of us wants to look at the numbers that might be considered by someone who’d decided certain numbers were luckier or more successful than others.”

“Apart from my personal dislike of the number three, it would be a possibility; that number is typically associated with people who believe themselves to be almost superhuman or bringers of change,” Calleo shrugged. “The rest of its aspects don’t fit him though at least, not as Voldemort. Upbeat, youthful, generally happy, a lot of inner peace–not even close.”

“Four has a strong association with self-control and stability and he clearly didn’t have much of that.” Four had clearly been dismissed out of hand.

“Five is more of a fancy way to say 'probably a successful Alchemist and way older than any of you’, and he’s a great deal younger than both of us in addition to not being very successful.” Another dismissal and, with the way Calleo was talking, he hadn’t noticed the number steadily increasing.

“Six is–” before he could finish that, he all but dissolved into laughter for a few seconds. “Trust me, _it’s not six_. Nothing associated with healing, unconditional love, and nurturing would be anything he’d land on. I should probably mention that these numbers include the original bit that would have been left in the body the Ministry didn’t find.”

“Seven is one that even Muggles consider lucky overall and has its associations in someone who is curious and tends to like to dig up a lot of obscure, strange things but are only decent at relating to other people on a superficial level; usually sees them as means to an end and prefers their own company because nobody else could live up to their standards. Still,” another shrug, “it is considered a lucky number outside of Numerology.”

Calleo waved his hand at the horcrux on the sofa arm dismissively and it disappeared and made some passing comment about being tired of listening to it rant at him and it was either that or he was going to sit there talking while carefully ripping the soul off of the book and shoving it into the tackiest mug he could find in his kitchen; nice to be able to send things right back to the office like that.

“Eight is interesting though and–what are we down to?” He stopped talking again to make at least a cursory attempt at doing the math. One horcrux was fifty/fifty. Two were–well, the horcrux itself would always be fifty percent of whatever was left–twenty-five percent, then twelve percent at three, six percent at four, three percent at five. What the hell was half of three? One and a half percent at six, three quarters of a percent at seven.

“Well, at eight, he’d be down to having about, ick, three odd numbers. Point three-seven-five. Three and five both have some aspects that he’d likely find desirable and it does include that 'lucky’ seven. At any rate, the luck of seven aside, eight based on its shape alone represents what amounts to immortality, a mind of one’s own, and the ability and will to endure anything. That one would be my guess, if it wasn’t seven based solely on all the strange fixation of luck around that one.”

“If he did die at least once with that little left the upside is any piece he’d use, assuming he doesn’t try the possession of someone else route first which would probably keep him at that point three-seven-five, would make him significantly more human than he was when he was first killed. That’s a depressing thought.”

More accurately, it was a horrifying thought but that isn’t where Calleo’s mind had gone, evidently.

His tone went strangely and suddenly cold, “ _Nine_ is still locked in a tower of his own design as far as I know and there isn’t a comparison there anyway. Talent versus a _tantrum_ from everything I’ve seen from the angle I usually see that sort of thing from.” It seemed, all things considered, that Calleo still held Grindelwald's overall skill in a regard as high as the tower inside of which the man was still locked.

As Calleo continued, his voice went back to its usual,“ From nine–it does go up digit by digit but the stronger ones, so to speak, jump to eleven, twelve, then twenty two and none of those seem terribly likely.”

“Two things bother me about that eight, however,” sometimes just listening to Calleo was enough to make his mind seem like it ran in the infinite loops of an 8, “the first being that I’d guess anyone doing multiples would stop noticing the negative side effects of that ritual after the first two or three, which leads to the second thing: The more you carve it away, the less human you’d become–and the more unpredictable and likely violent you would become.”

Calleo sighed at Albus’ last question which, for a moment, seemed to be his only response, “No more than you can easily summon an intact person with Accio, which is to say, not particularly. If you knew what he’d attached them to, you could easily summon that object but not the other way around. If he’s got a fascination with symbolism, it might at least narrow down what sort of objects you’d be looking for. It’d be incredibly surprising if all of them weren’t heavily cursed and designed to incapacitate one way or another as the latter would make possession easier.”

“On the other hand, that’s looking at it from the perspective of how I’d do it if I were mad enough to consider chopping myself up into pieces; his thought process might have been entirely different and, admittedly, I don’t know what the thought process of someone who’d done it more than once would be beyond incoherently dangerous.”

“Yes,” he confirmed sadly. “ _That_ Tom.” Albus had guessed the strange way he spoke was due to continued, frequent use of parseltongue–a sort of accent. But he hid most of it when he decided he needed to sound important to his followers, as he had done when speaking to professors during his later years at Hogwarts. 

Calleo was right, of course. Albus had been about to nod. And he certainly didn’t believe anything that might absolve him of guilt in this situation, no matter that he could see the logic in Calleo’s argument. And despite how deeply touched he was by the kindness that drove him to say it. But rather than following through with his nod, he simply hummed thoughtfully and let Calleo continue speaking, as he generally seemed content to do until he was interrupted.

“I believe it was Arithmancy and magically-powerful number that he would be more inclined to base a decision like this in. I can’t be sure, of course. He did hold Divination in abnormally high regard, as far as I could tell,” he cut in before he could get too much farther.

Then, as Calleo went up through possible numbers and their connotations, Albus grew paler, worry and a bit of despair growing behind his eyes. There was very little chance of him successfully locating six or seven–or, heaven-forbid, eight–random objects. 

“Eight _pieces_ , do you think? Or eight _horcruxes?_ I don’t know if he would have counted the part of his soul still inside his body.” He couldn’t even bear to consider more than eight at the moment, though losing so much of his soul did explain the loss of rationality and coherence in his plans over the last years.

“Tom was collecting trophies even before he knew about magic. He may have been bright enough to use objects that nobody would think of and hide them well, but… I don’t believe he was sane enough. I think… Most likely, he would have wanted significant items, placed in significant locations. Still, that doesn’t narrow things much. I was hardly his trusted confidant in his school days and I have had few chances to even speak to him since.”

He put his face down into his hands, looking unbelievably weary, and stayed hunched over like that for a few long breaths before straightening back up.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fully understand how someone who had to work in a shop in Knockturn wouldn’t end up in a mindset of, ‘Yes, they all deserve this’; I only worked at Flourish & Blotts until I ended up at the Ministry and some days…” he shook his head, “not a _real_ excuse of course, but I could see having to work there snapping someone who was only holding on by a thread to begin with.”

A muttered, “It’s just pattern recognition and lucky guesses” when Divination was mentioned but, Calleo didn’t push that topic further.

“Well, it’d be eight including the original one he was carving off of, which would mean if the original piece was what got kicked into the afterlife he’d be down to seven. The thing is, no matter how razor thin it became, it wouldn’t ever be destroyed entirely–apart from misusing Nihilus or using Excidium, of course–it’s worth keeping in mind that he is still a person.”

“May very well be a twisted, violent, unpredictable person, but still a person; I don’t like that narrative of only monsters do that sort of thing because that’s simply not the case, it further alienates someone who’s likely feeling that way to begin with, and creates this false sense of security that it can’t happen again because only a monster would do that and the monster was killed, imprisoned, or whatever was done with it–and that’s dangerous.”

Calleo listened carefully, both because it was an interesting topic to him and because he wanted to take care not to miss any little detail that might be important. “It narrows it down more than you’d think; if there were aspects of history he was fascinated with, or certain colours, certain places, certain object types, or if they might be objects that held personal meaning to him it could narrow it down a great deal. It’s helped by the fact that most people like him want their soul kibble found by someone because, at some point, the body they have is going to die and they’re going to need to find another one so they’d want the remaining bits relatively easy to find. I’d bet actual Galleons that at least one or two of his _branded_ followers know where at least one is.”


	4. Off the Cuff Planning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sort of things that end up mapped out when Calleo gets one scrap of an end goal and unclips his mind's leash and has an old friend who can not only easily keep up but make adjustments and get clarifications without interrupting the flow of planning.

“I’m sure that is our _only_ realistic option,” Albus confirmed, though he didn’t look happy about it. It was a minor relief, though, to hear the clarification that his friend was still willing to aid the world in preventing atrocities. He _did_ wonder sometimes. Idly and infrequently.

“I will try, but I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my talent for relaxation in recent years. It may take some practice to recover the skill.” He smiled wryly, then rubbed his ear and leaned back more comfortably against the couch. 

“Despite your misgivings, I’m certain to find the constant communication more comforting than not in this case. It is an incredibly important task which I am unable to complete unaided, which I’m sure you know frustrates me. Hearing from you will allow me to feel as though I’m in the loop.”

He leaned into Calleo for a moment, resting a hand on his leg to let him know he was comfortable with the touch continuing. He smiled weakly through the diversion of the hat pin, not bothering to respond to the question about his beard since he was sure Calleo would continue without an answer. Which he did.

“I think two, three, and then one will work as well as any other approach, assuming I followed correctly and by that you mean you will target financials first, then social concerns, then possible legislation. I doubt legislation will do much good before the general mood has shifted to favor views opposing Voldemort’s ideals. And, legislation is the one thing I would be better suited for than you.”

“A paper trail could be a bit much or dangerous down the line. I don’t know–quite how to ask this without coming off as weird..er..than usual but I will preface it by saying it’s something I frequently do with people I need to remain in close and silent contact. It’s typically temporary, and everyone has their own little space, as it were.” He tapped the side of his head, “At the moment, it’s only Lagraff, Aldig, Koggot, and Braxford that have what I like to joke is a permanent flat in my head.”

“Instant and silent communication, and I’ve long since learned how to make it work over great distances as well!” Calleo’s smile was almost playful, “And I’m completely housebroken and _don’t_ go snooping about as I have no interest in what’s going on in someone else’s head. It’s never always on, and the other four would have no idea you were even in there unless I told them, which I wouldn’t as they’re not involved. You won’t even know I’m there until I start talking.”

“And Occlumency’s always been a basic job function; I’ve had nearly seventy years of building it up and fine tuning it and am completely confident in saying it would be an entirely secure method of communication–er–the Legilimency part, that is.”

That was a lot of rambling in an attempt to not seem completely awkward, which may not have worked at all. Then again, there may not be a way to not-awkwardly suggest someone have a seat inside your mind to make communication faster and easier.

“If it makes it less frustrating for you, do feel free to consider me–uh–hm,” Calleo paused to think, “an extension of you. For the most part, I’ll simply move as you move and move what I can move in the same direction, but I answer to you privately. I know you’re not fond of giving up control, and I do appreciate the significance of even a small piece of it being turned largely over to me.”

“Publicly, I may have to appear a bit distant, though[ I doubt I’ll be able to make a good case for even neutrality in the Archives after the way I dealt with it a few years back;](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fvogelchen.com%2Fpost%2F190783411393%2F1976&t=YTBmMjgwYWM5MjdkYmFlNTkxYzc3OWNlYTRlN2RjNGE2ODhhZTM2NyxWOWcyUnVJSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AKCZMauKayS9oNY2bILI8OQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Feveryheartbesure.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F611907793435459584%2Fcalleo-bricriu-everyheartbesure-im-sure&m=0) if I’m lucky, I’ll be largely forgotten or thought of as irrelevant. If not, I’ll just make enough noise to keep the focus on me and not the other Archivists.”

“ _Regardless_ ,” he smiled at Albus, “completely regardless of how I may have to present myself publicly, _I am entirely yours in this_. Financial aim will be easy,” the smile broadened into a strangely proud and somewhat sharp grin. “I spent years–close to twenty–tracking down any living relatives and in a few cases it had to go to mutual business associates as one or two entire families had been simply exterminated.”

“What that got me was a strong reputation of someone who honors a contract; when they died, the ones I had the contracts with, everything sold or given to me under those contracts needed to be returned to their family–if any were left. I managed to rebuild several very, very strong ties to incredibly skilled Goblins. If anyone can cause financial chaos for those who still support him, they can.” His statements were almost clinical in nature, but the excitement to do something that wasn’t managing a weird and terrible library was evident in his eyes.

“Especially since one of his intended platforms was to make life…difficult for them again! Goblins have long memories, as they should.”

“The social aspect!” Now his grin was back, matching the excitement that lit his eyes. If one arm hadn’t been draped across Albus’ shoulders, he might have actually clapped.

“That is going to be so, so interesting; I’ll aim for nobody actually being killed and it’s very difficult to die of embarrassment. Should be easy to tie it into the financial aspect. If nobody wants to do business with you because of your views on things, it becomes embarrassing enough that even if they still buy into it privately they’ll be hesitant to be public with it and I am already enjoying this.”

“Where legislation is concerned, that is almost certainly _your_ strong point and you have the political capital to spend, so I’ve got no arguments there. I can, if you’d like, get you tie-ins to the contacts I have just to make sure you’ve got strong enough strings to pull when it becomes necessary to give them a good yank, though it may be best for me to set those up so they don’t know it’s you directing it all.”

“Some of them are still a little–let’s call it _bitter_ ; most of them will work with me and the ones who won’t I’m–not sure what to do about them yet, but I’d reckon we’ve got a few years to figure it out!”

He gave Albus a small squeeze, taking care to make sure it didn’t make him feel trapped on the sofa. “Regardless of how long it takes him to rebuild, if he wants _continental_ Europe, I fully intend to make it my priority to see that he has to fight for every tiny scrap of it and aim to make it not worth the time, effort, and losses to attempt.”

“And if _that_ doesn’t work out all that well, I’m amazingly skilled at causing chaos–not–you know, _war level_ chaos, the sort that one doesn’t even notice from the outside; those types of people will eat their own, so to speak, if they become frightened enough that they’re being targeted.”

“I know the Unseen Market well enough to navigate it in my sleep, Albus!” If it were possible for a person to be almost _vibrating_ with excitement, Calleo was that person.

“There are _so many_ avenues that will be so easy to cut off because of all the years I spent making connections others kept telling me to avoid. Have you worked closely with Goblins before? In a situation where they’re not wary of your motivations? They are brilliantly and efficiently _cutthroat_ and I know exactly which partners of mine to contact to get it started!”

“Don’t mistake, they’re not going to kill anyone–and neither am I–physically, just financially and socially.”

“You just take a holiday, here, somewhere else, anywhere, there’s no rush on anything you’d need to do here and what you’ll likely end up having to spend that political capital on will be better spent once any base support that kid,” Kid. Not _especially_ the way one would expect to hear someone use in reference to Voldemort but, in fairness, Calleo was roughly forty years older than him, “has left is a smouldering heap of embarrassment and financial ruin. It’s going to take a few years to get it to a point that it’s usable in that regard.”

Everything Calleo was talking about was so _delightfully_ intricate–the exact kind of social maneuvering and manipulation and elegant design that had so entranced Albus in his youth. Had he been alone when such longing struck, he might very well have hidden his wand and taken a sleep aid. As it was, he simply closed his eyes for a moment, took a long, deep breath, and tried to remind himself of every reason he wasn’t allowed to trust himself with fixing the government. No, it was much better to leave _Calleo_ to handle this–to leave this to someone who could be trusted to continue thinking of the people he was moving into place _as people_ rather than simply puzzle pieces.

He ended up looking rather pained, until he worked his way back to the start of what Calleo had been saying. Then his eyes opened suddenly. 

“I’m afraid we’re going to need to take a step back and slow down, just a hint. What _kind_ of bond, exactly, are you proposing?” He couldn’t handle a direct feed of all his friend was doing to fix this. Frequent reports would be one thing, but constant communication of the sort he was now imagining would be another thing entirely. Very likely, Albus would start to _actually_ treat Calleo as an extension of himself, as though he were little more than a game piece. And he could not allow that to happen. Not at _any_ cost.

“I _do_ trust you. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of handling this independently. As much as I enjoy being in charge,” he offered a small, amused smile, above all his inner turmoil, “I _am_ capable of letting go, especially when others are more capable than I. And there are methods of communication that neither leave a paper trail nor require we take up residence within each other’s minds. Perhaps it would be prudent to examine those before leaping to whatever, specifically, it is you’re suggesting.”

“Oh, nothing _binding_ ; it’s not a _business_ contract, after all. Just–a key, more or less, and don’t mistake,” he smiled brightly, “If I’d rather not have someone in my head at any given point, I’m more than capable of putting up an ‘out to lunch, try back later’ metaphorical sign.”

“It’s just easier, over distance, where owls aren’t practical and information needs to be exchanged quickly, to use Legilimancy; and I Legilimancy. I swear, I’m not going to use it to wake you up in the middle of the night and ask you want the difference between a raven and a writing desk is or anything equally frivolous and there’s no bond involved, if you don’t want to talk, you don’t answer–and vice versa.

Calleo nodded, “We can discuss other methods certainly, especially if you’re not comfortable with Legilimency; it’s just what I’m the most used to using so it’s something I don’t have to think about–pun intended–to resort to using. You wouldn’t see anything I wouldn’t want you to see, all you’d see would be things related to work and an occasional chat.”

“Speaking of, it’s _SO_ useful for silent conversation that makes other people you’re negotiating with think you’re far too clever to try and pull one over on! That _IS_ business that would be relatively useful here.”

Likely a good idea to be prudent though,“ Calleo kicked his feet up to rest on his own coffee table again. It was his own house, he could do what he wanted in his own house! “You’ve always been good at that you know, tempering–to put it _politely_ –me when my mind gets away from me and starts proposing ideas that may not be the best course of action. _HA!_ And, Merlin, if you were accidentally just hanging about in there and taking a look around, you’d probably run into so many things you never wanted to know about me!”

“Anyway, it’s good to have someone around who’s able to act as a stopgap,” his smile faded somewhat, but didn’t disappear, “I’d like you to keep in mind that _you_ know this situation better than _I_ do. Just give the leash a yank if you think I’m getting too out of line.”

“I know the people I need to contact, where to have them go, what to have them say, and to whom to get things started; I know where I have to move in the same capacity but it all comes back to _you._ Not _entirely_ you, I’m not going to even suggest it’s _all_ on you, you don’t need that kind of stress and whatever they do falls back on me as I know how these things work; you need to, for now, remain completely separated from it all to keep the Ministry from poking around where it needn’t be poking around.”

Calleo gave Albus another little squeeze, “I can move as swiftly _or_ as slowly as you’d like. If nothing else, I am _exceptionally_ adaptable!”

“What the Ministry doesn’t know won’t hurt them but if anyone has to fall on the proverbial sword, it’s going to be _me_."

Calleo’s smile returned, this time more warm than playful, “What _you_ need are people around you who can help keep you from thinking you need to be the one to plan, execute, and accomplish those plans; it works better with groups you trust, you know. Two now is a good start, but it’d be a good idea to pick a few more people with highly specialised skill sets eventually.”

“And maybe for nobody else it comes back to you directly, but it does for me; don’t mistake, though, if I think _you’re_ making a misstep, you’ll hear about it and likely hear about it with a mountain of evidence.”

“ _AND a holiday._ A holiday _first_ while I get information gathering started and you relax wherever it is you choose to relax; if you travel, send photos, if you stay here expect to be mildly fussed over if you start looking like you’re having a rough time.”

Albus was also extremely capable of keeping people out of his head, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist every scrap of information he might be offered.

He reminded himself that he had successfully avoided taking over the world for many years now, then quickly thought it over again, more rationally. "Alright. I will take all of that under advisement.”

It was more difficult than it had any business being, to adjust to the idea that this wasn’t entirely his responsibility, even if he was leading things. I don’t believe such a measure is necessary at this point, but after I return from my holiday,“ he smiled, a little bit sadly, "we can implement Legilimancy-based communication. You’re right that there will be quite a few advantages inherent to that method.

"I would like to say that your calm confidence in both of our abilities is _remarkably_ reassuring. Especially your confidence in your ability to knock me back into line. I don’t even _doubt_ you.” He leaned more firmly into his friend for a moment.

“When are you planning to begin taking moves?”


	5. Take a Holiday; This Kind of Work is a Holiday for Me Anyway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things had been put into motion the instant Albus gave a positive indication. 
> 
> No point in taking things slowly, after all.

"Great! It does make things a lot easier when trying to run silent, as it were; and I will want to hear all about your holiday when you get back!” Anyone listening in at this point might have just assumed nothing more than two old Wizards having a perfectly normal conversation.

“And try not to worry, I’m not a _horribly_ loud presence, despite my outward personality; I wouldn’t be noisy living in a flat with thin walls, and I tend to treat others’ minds the same way.”

Calleo positively _beamed_ at the compliment that might have seemed utterly mundane to someone else, “And it’s actual confidence; learned long ago that trying to pass off arrogance as confidence never works out long term.”

“You’re good enough at pulling me back into line,” he snickered, “I mean, the long hair doesn’t help in escape attempts either. Reckon the same applies to that impressive beard of yours too! Ah—” Calleo regained his composure, “but it is a good thing to know. I never care to work alone for that reason. It’s easy to go a bit _off_ if you haven’t got anyone around to talk you down.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll do very well with this and I’ll have no trouble turning to you for advice or to discuss tactics.”

As Albus leaned more into Calleo, Calleo pulled him closer, “Oh, Lagraff, Koggott, and Aldig started about a _half hour ago_. Lagraff’s excellent with the economics of things–and he’s my personal accountant–Koggot gets on well with those in the Unseen Market, and Aldig is positively _amazing_ where politics are concerned; if anyone can make it politically embarrassing to have even a passing association with Voldemort, _Aldig_ can.”

“Between Aldig and Koggot, they’ll have enough in place within a couple of months so Lagraff can start cutting off economic roots; at the moment, he’s simply a,” Calleo’s smile broadened, “ _buyer for a private client._ ”

“Figured I’d start small then have those three how many of the Goblin based business and banks he can get to fall in line.”

“And once _that’s_ done,” Calleo had started to absently braid Albus’ hair, much the same way he used to when they were younger, “that’s when I step in, call in a few favours and where I have no political capital, _I’ll make it–or find it, one way or another._ I’ll have a better idea of who and where to target first after hearing back from Aldig and Koggot.”

He sat silently for a while, letting Albus relax and still absently and loosely braiding his hair. It wasn’t the nicest topic, of course but, avoiding such things only made them worse in the end.

Calleo finally spoke again, “I’ve got this, I promise you that and I also promise that if I think I’m slipping or need additional or reallocated resources, you’ll be the _first_ person to know.” 

"You focus on, first and foremost, _you_ , then on the school, _THEN_ the UK at large; I don’t think I can bring in anyone from the continent without MACUSA losing its mind but I could see if it would be possible for Lagraff to convince at least a few of the Goblins at Gringotts that they really don’t want to keep accounts on these people, and assets can be frozen on a whim.“

"I _know_ this is difficult for you, Albus” reminiscent of few times in the mid-to-late 1940s, Calleo turned just enough to give his friend a perfectly friendly kiss on the side of his head, “it’s not all that hidden, but I am impressed and proud of you for realising that you’d only run yourself straight into the ground trying to do this yourself.”

“And don’t worry, I never fire the first shot so it’s _always_ self defence in the eyes of the various Law Enforcement departments.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He ought to have learned that lesson decades ago and stopped working alone so frequently himself, but he was grateful for the reminder. 

Hearing him lay out his plan–explain that it was already in motion–Albus was rather suddenly envious of his network, regardless of how much effort Albus had put into purposely keeping his individual power in their community low. Then, of course, he had the realization that with them working together, Calleo’s network _was_ his by proxy. And perhaps, that combined with what remained of the order and with his other connection and reputation… they might actually be able to make things _work._

“It is. You know me well. _Shockingly_ well, some days. I will leave things in your very capable hands.” And he would trust all the reassurances. There was no good reason _not_ to. 

Albus smiled and squeezed Calleo’s hand for a moment before shifting to put an inch or so between them. “I think I may stay for a moment. A better word might be hiding, but I believe an old man is allowed, on occasion.” And he did stay, not revisiting the unpleasant topics of war criminals or political maneuvering, for nearly half an hour, before he stood again to make his excuses. 

“And now, the school is calling. Always things to be done, you know. I wish you luck. But I do have a holiday to plan as well.” He smiled again, the sadness creeping back in, though it was certainly less prominent than it had been when he had first arrived, and again, took Calleo’s hand for a moment. “I know you know, but you shouldn’t get too set on handling things alone either.”

“That does tend to happen after a few decades here and there if one is paying attention properly. It’s probably less fair to say you don’t hide it well than it is to say I’ve had to learn to be an almost paranoid level of perceptive for so long that it’s second nature.”

“And, make no mistake, it is often a paranoid level but, then, it _has_ to be.” The smile he offered had a vague hint of sheepishness to it but, it was a smile nonetheless. “One often gets used to doublespeak, as it were, or needing to read between lines someone else would never tell you are there; missing even the smallest thing can have catastrophic results personally and professionally, and if you’re incorrect, the worst you typically end up as is a bit mental–but still alive.”

“The thing is is,” the sheepishness disappeared and melted into something that held the glint of a razor blade, “my dagger collection is made up of the ones I’ve pulled from my own back over the years.”

“If it’s hiding, _I’ve_ been hiding since somewhere around 1916! I couldn’t do _half_ of what you do even a _fraction_ of the time; dealing with other people face to face is exhausting. There’s a good reason I bothered the appropriate offices for years to get them to give me a permit to make this place unplottable and I can sum it up with, ‘Unscheduled visitors outside of office hours stress me out even more than unscheduled visitors during office hours’.” He did, however, manage to not drift back to unpleasant topics for the duration of the conversation. One of the benefits of living in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by Muggles was that there had been, for all intents and purposes, no recent war anywhere near the place; it was all pleasant and quiet, even if the only reason had been that the Muggles weren’t allowed to know what had been going on.

“Does the school _actually_ call?” Calleo tilted his head slightly, “It feels like that’s something it might actually do, which is mildly disconcerting.”

He smiled and not so much laughed as he did make an amused sounding little huff, “I know better than that; if I fall out of contact with either of those three for too long where personal business is concerned there’s a good chance someone under four feet tall will come looking for me and levitate a rolled up copy of the Prophet to go upside my head with for not answering in a timely manner.”

“You’ll have to forgive me in advance if I try to keep you away from needing to deal with some of the– _sorts of people_ I’ll end up dealing with eventually for as long as possible. The ones I wouldn’t classify as dangerous are also the ones who are going to require a little,” Calleo paused, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it that didn’t make him sound horrible and eventually gave up and offered a resigned sounding, “persuasion, if only verbal, to even be willing to talk to you. The ones who owe me _favours_ , which I will get from them one way or another, are more a matter of whether or not they’re currently aware that they owe me and have for at least the last four decades.”

“They’ll come around largely on account of me not intending to give them an option otherwise. If I can’t be charming enough, I can certainly be stubborn enough!”

“The rest are the sort I’ll likely have to take the route of falling in line with being on the, it’s not really an opposite side, yet is at the same time; the ones that need to think I find you to be the problem, not Voldemort.”

“Do try not to worry, though!” He perked back up, smiling brilliantly again. “You’ll know exactly who they are and what they say word for word; if you like, you’ll be able to hear and see them as well, should you want to be able to piece their words together with their tone and actions directly.”

 _“ **Finessing!** ”_ Evidently, it took Calleo’s mind a few minutes to catch up with the rest of him, “That was the word I was after! Persuasion sounds a hell of a lot more aggressive than I _ever_ get.”

“It does, on occasion, though I’m being slightly less literal at the moment. Generally, it’s only the wards or the elves who notify me directly that my presence is needed.” For instance, were students performing illegal magic in the corridors, or if the school were under attack, the wards would alert him. Thankfully, that was not the case now. He didn’t think he could summon the energy to alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and coordinate the fallout from that at the moment. “This, thankfully, is much more of a pressing memory of obligations. A nagging urge to continue keeping things in order, moving along as planned.” He smiled back, more than used to the way goodbyes could be drawn out by now.

“Ahh, keeping track. So few take the initiative to properly track their debts these days, assuming that others forget with time as they do. Yes.” He smiled wanly. “Yes, I’m sure you are more than capable of reminding. And _finessing_.

“I have full faith in you,” he reminded the both of them yet again. “And I’m sure I will get by just fine without direct memories, unless you find them particularly informative in a way a simpler retelling cannot be.

“I’m sure I will be hearing from you soon, my friend. When I do, I will be sure to inform you in turn of the progress I have made in planning my holiday.” He clasped Calleo’s shoulder fondly in an unusual affectionate gesture, then smiled yet again in a way he could only hope reassured.


End file.
